In 1999, I visited Cincinnati for the first time.  It was the summer before my freshman year of high school, and I accompanied my mother, my sister, and my grandmothers to my sister’s dance convention in Covington, just across the river from the city.  It was a nice place.  We stayed at a nice hotel with a perfect view of what I’d later learn was the John A. Roebling suspension bridge.  We visited the Newport Aquarium, which at the time was very new.  My grandmother and I had ice cream sodas at Union Terminal, which was already very, very old.  We walked between skyscrapers, gazed across the river at the glittering towers beyond.  We had dinner at an eclectic little cafe on the sidewalk in front of the hotel: a cheeky little place with great food and rat pack music crooning across the speakers.

It was a fun trip to a strange place I’d never been to before.  When I left, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back.

I’ve lived in Cincinnati since 2003.  For fifteen years, nearly half my life, I’ve lived here.  I’ve read the Enquirer, watched Reds games, cheered loudly for the teams of my alma mater (the Cincinnati Bearcats).  I’ve been to Oktoberfest and sung in German, taken in the butterfly show at the Krohn Conservatory.  I’ve immersed myself in the craft beer scene.  I’ve seen the Festival of Lights, visited the Christkindlemarkt at Fountain Square.  I’ve cheered for this city, cried with it, shared in its tragedies and its triumphs.  I’ve made a lot of friends here.  I’ve fallen in love here.

The holidays have a way of putting things in perspective, moving us to examine our lives more closely.  Last year, after six terrible months, I wrote a piece about how badly I wanted to get as far away from here as I could.  In some ways, I truly dreaded coming back here again.  But a lot can change in a year, and this time around I feel a lot better about how things are going.

I’d never planned to stay in Cincinnati longer than I had to.  I had big ambitions, big plans, plans far larger than anything I thought could be accomplished here.   But somehow, somewhere along the way, something funny happened.  I got comfortable.  I started feeling like I was a part of this place.  I stopped telling my friends I was going home when I visited Pennsylvania, and started telling my family I was going home when I left.  When I was coming back here.  I became a part of Cincinnati, and somewhere along the line, Cincinnati became a part of me.

Home, they say, is where the heart is, and my heart is always with two amazing people who set me on the path to what has been, to this point at least, an amazing life.  My childhood home, the red brick colonial with the blue shutters, is home, and will forever be.  It is, to me, a symbol of the sort of unconditional love one experiences only once in a lifetime.  But tonight, after a really good day, I found myself, unexpectedly, sitting at the counter at the Skyline in Oakley.  And there, surrounded by Cincinnatians, with steam billowing from pots of chili and a plate of piping hot coneys piled with shredded cheese set in front of me, I did something unexpected.  I sat back, and let out the kind of long, releasing sigh one lets out when one feels totally at peace.

There, surrounded by people I didn’t know, I felt at home.

It’s been a long, trying, hectic year.  I cannot find the words to express how much I’m looking forward to getting out of town, how much I can’t wait to sit in my parents’ living room, hug mom and dad, see my sister I often see only a few times a year now.  I’ve been looking forward to my annual Thanksgiving trip for the past month.  I started planning for it before Halloween.  And I will richly enjoy my time with the people who mean the most to me.  But tonight, it suddenly occurred to me how much I love it here.

I’ve adopted the city that adopted me, so many years ago.  I have more than just friends and an apartment and a job here, I have a life here.  And there are few places I’d rather be.  I feel like I belong.  When I’m in Cincinnati, walking its streets, visiting the newest brewery, or sharing a pot of tea with my favorite girl on an overcast day in Oakley, I feel like this is where I’m supposed to be.  I’m home.

It’s always nice to get away.  To get the city out of your lungs.  To go someplace simple, safe, and comfortable, surrounded by the family you love and miss every single day.  But this is my home now.  It’s a quirky, plucky sort of place.  It’s a big city with small neighborhoods.  It’s a city with great beer and a terrible sports problem.  It’s got good parts and bad parts, and it’s got a chip on its shoulder.  But Cincinnati, as I always say, is a place where ordinary people do extraordinary things every day.  It’s a place for entrepreneurs, where no idea is too big.  And it’s my city.

I can’t wait to see my family, to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner surrounded with love.  I can’t wait to spend time away from the city for a change.  But I am a Cincinnatian.  And when I’m here, I am home.